


Acute

by QueensJenn



Category: Ylvis
Genre: Drama, Gen, The Expensive Jacket Tour, brofeels, h/c, major angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-14 08:54:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2185530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueensJenn/pseuds/QueensJenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three more dates left on the tour after a fantastic summer. They're riding the high, the knowledge that things are only going to go up for them. They're going to new heights, nothing is out of reach anymore. </p><p>But things don't always go according to plan, and sometimes, despite everything, Nature has other ideas.</p><p>Three more dates left on the tour, and suddenly everything goes wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I...I have no idea. This was an idea that actually occured to me before Spektrum and again before Bergen, but I could never really get it into words. You might wish I hadn't.

When Bård looked back on the whole thing years later, he would always remember that it began on August 17th, 2014, and that improbably, it began as nothing at all.

Vegard was tired. Bård could tell that as soon as he walked into the office, even if no one else noticed anything. To anyone who didn’t know him well, Vegard seemed as he normally did: more reserved than Calle and less talkative than Bård, but no less focussed on their work, which at that point was the last few stops on the tour.

But that day there was a difference in his older brother’s demeanour; a quiet sort of weariness that didn’t show but was glaringly apparent to Bård. He tried to think back, to remember if he’d been like this yesterday or the day before, but he couldn’t remember then, and later on, when he thought back to it, his mind played tricks on him, sometimes telling him that Vegard had been fine the day before and the whole thing came on so suddenly, and other times telling him that Vegard had been quiet and slow for a long time, and it was his fault, Bård’s fault, for not seeing it.

But all of that would come to him later. At the time, he saw it as nothing more than Vegard was tired. Nevertheless, he was bent over the table as usual, poring over various pieces of paperwork and other assorted crap that came with simultaneously running a television production company and a countrywide rock tour at the same time. Bård could hardly fault him; the summer so far had been crazy; maybe even moreso than the fall, if only in a different way. All their Fox press had, by and large, been pre-arranged by someone else, and all they had to do was show up. This tour required them to do almost everything themselves, and it was proving to be a far bigger task than everyone had even imagined.

So it was natural, Bård told himself. It was natural that his older brother might be feeling a little run-down.After all, he _was_ the one who declared that he hated sleeping, and tried to get away with as little as possible (with results ranging from hilarious to pathetic.) The vague feeling of _wrongness_ he had in the back of his mind was just that: a vague feeling, brought on by too many late nights and too much stress of his own. Besides which, Vegard was a grown-ass man, if he was feeling bad, he could take care of himself.

(He would _never_ take care of himself, because he would _never_ admit anything was wrong until it was too late. That’s just how he was, and Bård knew it.)

By the afternoon, Vegard still hadn’t perked up, and the weird, uncomfortable feeling in Bård’s mind had blossomed into something more. He tried to tell himself to just forget it - the more he thought about it, the worse he would feel, because he’d start to obsess, and then he’d convince himself that something was wrong, and then Vegard would make fun of him, and that was never fun. Besides - Vegard had been fine yesterday (right?), and the day before (had he?). 

Without knocking, he barged into Vegard’s office. Vegard lifted his head from where he’d been resting it on his hand and cocked an eyebrow, wordlessly asking what was going on.

“Are you okay?” Bård blurted it out without thinking. He hadn’t actually thought about what he was going to say when he got in there, and he instantly knew it was the wrong thing. The thing about Vegard was that if you implied, or even outright stated, that something was wrong with him, he’d immediately get defensive and deny everything, which was precisely what Bård had just done, effectively tanking the conversation before it had even gotten started. 

“Yeah,” Vegard replied, after only the slightest of hesitations. Anyone else would never have noticed it, but Bård wasn’t anyone else.

“No you’re not.”

“Yeah, I am.”

Bård pursed his lips and crossed his arms, willing himself to stay calm.“You can’t lie to me.”

Vegard groaned in frustration. “Bård, I’m _fine_ , okay? It’s just a flu bug or something. I’ll get over it.”

Rather than reassure him, Vegard’s words only scared him more. He smirked. “I knew you were sick.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah. You were sucking more than usual this morning.”

“Go _away,_ Bård!” Vegard snapped, with none of the usual good-humoured irritation in his tone. He closed his eyes, rubbing at his forehead. “Sorry,” he muttered, seeing Bård’s wide-eyed look of shock. “I’m just tired.”

It was almost on the tip of his tongue to tell him to go home. But he knew that would only make Vegard more defensive, and it wasn’t practical either. With the last few dates of the tour coming up in two weeks, as well as IKMY starting in a month, they needed him here, even if he wasn’t at full power. 

“Don’t tell me to go home,” Vegard muttered, reading his thoughts. “You know I can’t.”

“I know,” Bård sighed, and ran his hand through his hair, unsure of what else to say. 

Vegard cleared his throat. “Well, if that’s it then…?”

Bård frowned. “Are you kicking me out?” 

“No…but I really need to work.” Vegard avoided looking at him and ran his fingers over his lips.

“You’ve still got that cut on your lip,” Bård said. He had no idea what drew him to that little detail, but suddenly he couldn’t take his eyes off it.

“Yeah?”

“You’ve had that for a long time.”

Vegard fixed him with a look. “Thanks.”

Bård fought down the wave of irritation at Vegard’s overly-sarcastic tone. “Haven’t you had it for like a week?”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t.” Bård uncrossed his arms and turned to go back into his own office. “Go back to to work.”

“Bård…” Clearly, he knew he’d gone too far. 

In a moment of thoughtless carelessness, Bård flipped him the finger and slammed the door. 

~~~

Vegard’s poor mood didn’t improve at all during the day, and if possible, it seemed like he only got worse. Even thought they weren’t doing anything particularly physical, he looked exhausted by the end of the day. Bård hadn’t spoken to him since the failed attempt at caring in his office earlier, and had no intention of trying again until at least the next day. Vegard _never_ snapped at him, and now that he had, Bård’s ego required at minimum a good 24 hours to recover.

So when a shadow fell across his desk at the end of the day, he didn’t even look up. Vegard shifted, then cleared his throat. Bård steadily ignored him.

“I’m sorry,” he tried. 

Bård grunted.

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“Nope.”

“I’m just tired.”

“You said that.”

“Bård, please.” There was something in Vegard’s tone that he hadn’t heard before, a kind of raw pleading. He looked up.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I accept your apology.”

“Good.”

“You really look like shit.”

Vegard sighed deeply. “I know, okay? You don’t have to keep saying it.”

“Seriously, what’s going on?” Bård asked. He didn’t want to ask. He didn’t want to know. But it seemed like the right thing to say, so it came out.

Vegard shrugged. “I don’t know. Just some bug, I guess.”

 _Careful now,_ Bård thought. “Have you seen a doctor?” He asked tentatively, fully expecting Vegard to roll his eyes or even throw another tantrum and leave. But he didn’t.

“Yeah, I…yeah.” He looked away, as if reluctant to admit it.

“What’d they say?”

“Oh, you know…just the same old thing, really. Took some blood, did some tests, just said to get more sleep and eat right…” Now he was deliberately looking away, and Bård didn’t like it. _He’s lying to me,_ he thought with a flash of panic. The air around them was humming with tension, so thick he could almost feel it.

_There’s something you’re not telling me._

The words were almost out. He had almost worked up the courage to say them. But Vegard simply smiled, in a way that didn’t reach his eyes, and left.

~~~

Much later, it would seem to Bård that it took a long time for things to progress, but really, it was only a few days. It was a Tuesday, and he never trusted Tuesdays. Nothing ever seemed to go right.

“That must be one hell of a flu bug,” Bård said, standing in the door to Vegard’s office.

“What?”

“You still look terrible.”

Vegard hesitated for a just a moment, then coughed slightly. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

 _I don’t think you are_. _“_ Well, you better get better soon. The last shows of the tour are almost here, and we need to go out with a bang.”

He scoffed. “You sound as if we’re just limping along. This summer has been fantastic. We’re at the top of everything, wouldn’t you agree?”

And in that moment, it seemed like there was something unspoken in the air, something that he could almost hear if he just listened hard enough, or maybe that was just a thing he thought of later.

“Certainly seems that way,” he agreed, “but now we need to keep it going. Show the world we’re not just the Fox guys.”

Vegard grimaced. “I don’t think we’re in danger of that. Everyone at home knows who we really are, and the rest of the world’s forgotten about us already, so I think we’re doing okay on that front.”

“You’re probably right. We should —“

A tinny melody filled the air, cutting Bård off in mid thought. (He would never remember it). Vegard looked down at his phone, and if possible, it seemed like he went even whiter for a second. 

“I should take this,” he said. Clearly dismissing him. 

For a moment, Bård wanted to protest, and say he’d wait until he was done with the call. But something made him think better of it, whether it was the look on his brother’s face and his own cowardice, or something else, he didn’t know. He just nodded dumbly and retreated, closing the door behind him. He watched for a moment through the full length glass wall, but Vegard had turned his back to him, and he couldn’t see anything at all.

Suddenly restless, the confines of his own office were too stifling. Bård wandered aimlessly down the hall into the kitchen, unsure of what he was even really looking for. A snack? A drink of water? Someone to tell him that his brother wasn’t behaving strangely and was, in fact, completely fine?

He found the last thing. Almost. Calle was sitting in the little kitchen, waiting for the coffeemaker to finish dripping. He was holding his tablet but looked up from it when Bård slumped into the seat across from him.

“Has Vegard been acting weird to you at all?” he asked without preamble.

Calle thought. It seemed to take him a long time to answer, as though he was searching for the right words to say. “Not…not entirely,” he settled on at last. “Wouldn’t you know better than me?”

“I guess,” Bård sighed. What had he been expecting? He _did_ know Vegard better than anyone else in the building, after all. 

“Did you two have a fight?”

“No…It’s just…I don’t know. Nothing.”

“Can’t you just…you know…ask him?”

Bård didn’t want to admit that he’d already tried that and had gotten nowhere, but the look on his face said it all.

The coffeemaker finished. Calle got up and filled his cup. “It’s probably nothing,” he said reassuringly. “We’re all just stressed from the end of the tour. This time next week, you’ll probably have forgotten about it entirely.”

~~~

Despite his lingering feeling of apprehension, Calle’s words did ring true and by the end of the day, Bård had so buried himself in his work that he’d almost forgotten about the exchange with Vegard that morning. Even though there were only three dates left on the tour, there was still a million things to do before wrapping it up and moving on to IKMY. And ever though everyone in the office was doing their best and putting in dozens of hours of overtime, there were still some things that only he or Vegard could take care of. Not to mention all the last minute issues that inevitably cropped up - Eva from Wardrobe had called to tell him that one of the Fox headpieces had mysteriously gone missing sometime between being put in storage and now, and his guitar tech had informed him that his brand-new guitar was having an issue with its input jack and was making a worrying buzzing noise every time it was plugged in to the amp. 

He closed his eyes and let his head fall into his hands. _Every time we seem to be getting ahead of things, one hundred more problems crop up._ As much as he’d loved doing the tour, he was looking forward to the end and getting a respite, if only for a few days or so.

He didn’t look up when he sensed the figure in the door way.

“Hey.”

“I’m going home.” Vegard’s voice was quiet and weary. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, it’s almost six. I’m going to be getting out of here soon too.” It was a lie, of course; he had several more hours ahead of him yet, and probably even more now that Vegard was fucking off home early. He didn’t really relish the thought of shouldering yet more work, but Vegard really looked like shit and would probably just do it all wrong anyway.

“Yeah.” Barely more than a sigh. Bård looked up and peered at him.

“Are you okay?” _Tell me. Honestly, tell me the truth. I need to know even if I won’t like it._

That split-second hesitation again, like his brother really was wrestling with the decision. Then the smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m fine. I’m just tired. See you tomorrow.” But there was a hollowness in his tone, a desperate emptiness. He turned to go.

“Wait,” Bård said, suddenly desperate to keep him there for reasons he couldn’t explain. “Do you…uh…do you want a ride home?”

Vegard shook his head. “I drove myself today, but thanks.”

“Oh…well…” _What is going on. Tell me._ “Okay. See you tomorrow then, I guess.”

“See you.”

He couldn’t think of anything else to say, so he just nodded and turned back to his work, hoping to find some sort of solace in the mundane problems; something to take his mind off the growing sense of anxiety that he’d managed to push down for the rest of the day. Vegard was a grown man, and he’d seen a doctor. Even if he looked and felt like shit now, he knew what to do to get better, he’d said so himself. The fox hats were missing. His guitar was acting weird. Vegard was acting weird. There was an issue with security at Stavanger that needed to be sorted within the next 12 hours. 

Running footsteps caught his attention. No one should be running in the office. His door burst open.

“You need to come quick,” said the breathless intern standing in the doorway. “Vegard’s collapsed in the parking lot.”

~~~

Bård was pretty sure he broke most, if not all, traffic laws on the way to the hospital, and it was a miracle he wasn’t pulled over because he had no intention of stopping. Vegard had already been taken in the ambulance by the time he got down to the parking lot, and no one could give him any answers besides the fact that his brother had been looking worse and worse, until he finally crumpled between two parked cars, and it was only by luck that someone spotted him. Bård felt sick - Vegard could have been run over, or worse, left out there all night by himself. The nights were still warm but cooling off; who knows what spending an entire night outdoors would do to him in his condition…

He knew he was catastrophizing, but it was pretty damn hard not to.

He double-parked in the visitor’s lot closest to the doors and sprinted inside. The nurse, somehow recognizing him, pointed down the hall, to an actual room instead of the maze of flimsy curtains that made up the rest of the ER.

He wasn’t sure what to expect when he entered; maybe it would be like the movies and he’d be hooked up to all kinds of machines and have a million tubes coming out of him and whatnot, but Vegard was conscious, sitting up in bed, with one lone IV tube running into his arm. Someone had taken off his sweater and he was in a hospital gown, though they’d let him keep his jeans.

Bård just stared. Running up and down his brother’s arms were massive bruises.

“What — what happened?” he finally managed to get out, motioning at his own arms.

Vegard didn’t meet his eyes. “Nothing,” he muttered.

Red hot anger flared up in him. Enough of this. His brother was bare-faced lying to him, and he’d had enough. “Cut the crap. What the fuck is going on? You collapsed in the fucking parking lot, you’re bruised up to your shoulders, and you expect me to believe nothing is wrong?” His eyes widened. “Did…did someone do this to you?” He didn’t want to think of the possibility, but suddenly his mind was racing, trying to figure out who in Vegard’s life would be capable of such brutality.

“Bård…no…no one did this to me. I don’t know, okay? They’re still doing some tests…nothing is conclusive right at the moment.”

Sudden, horrible realization dawned on him, and he wished he could go back to the naive idea that Vegard had just been beaten up. “That’s what the phone call was about today, this afternoon. These tests. What are they testing for?”

Vegard didn’t answer.

“Vegard, _what are they testing for?_ ” His voice was tight and shaking.

“I don’t know,” he said in a small voice. “They said it could be lots of things.”

“Like?!”

“Anemia. Blood…blood disorders. Other stuff, I don’t remember.”

“You have to remember! God, how long has this been going on? When the hell did this all start?”

“A few weeks ago, okay? I think? I don’t remember. It was after the last concert, I think! I thought I was just coming down with something, but it didn’t go away, and so I decided to see the doctor.”

“That bad, huh?” Vegard never saw the doctor, never asked for help unless he was practically dying. No, scratch that. He wasn’t dying.

“And what do you know now? What was the phone call this afternoon about?”

Vegard looked away. “The bloodwork was abnormal.”

Bård swore and resisted the urge to smash something. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me? And when were you planning to?”

“I don’t…I really thought it would be okay!” Vegard protested, his voice small. “And we were so busy…I thought everything would be okay. I didn’t want to put that on you as well.” 

“Well really fucking well that turned out, didn’t it.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice was barely more than a whisper. “I was scared, okay?”

Those three words. They brought Bård up short. Vegard never admitted he was scared, ever. He never admitted any weakness. Damn him.

“Hey…we’ll get through it, okay?” he said softly. “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it. Don’t be scared.”

Vegard smiled tiredly. “You sound like me.”

It was true. How many times was it that Vegard said the same words, soothing whatever drama Bård going through currently? Was that how he’d never noticed his brother getting sicker and sicker? How many times over the past few weeks even had Vegard told him that?

“You should have told me,” he mumbled. “It didn’t have to come to this.”

“Well, it did.”

“So what now?” Bård asked tiredly. “Your bloodwork came back abnormal. Did they say what they were going to do next?”

Vegard shrugged. “More tests. It’s always more tests. We have three more dates on the tour, and they want to run more tests!”

Bård looked at him skeptically, at his pale, tired face, and thought of how slow and rundown he’d been, and the kind of energy he needed for one performance, let alone three. “Are you sure you could even do three more performances right now?”

There was a defiant look in his eyes, as though he wanted to indignantly protest that of course he could keep going. But deep down they both knew he was bluffing. “We can’t cancel,” he said weakly. “Not at this late stage.”

He had a point. It was only a few days - less than a week - till the next concerts, and cancelling at this point would be tantamount to career suicide, as well as result in a lot of lost profit. Maybe even financial ruin - they were skating on thin ice as it was, pouring every last scrap of money into the concerts. Cancelling now would result in lost ticket sales as they refunded everyone. Maybe even fees from breaking contracts. He shook his head. “We’ll work something out. If you can’t go on, you can’t go on.”

“I will,” he said stubbornly. “I’ll be there, Bård. We’re not cancelling. We can’t.”

They fell silent as a nurse in pink scrubs entered the room to check on Vegard’s vitals. 

“How are you feeling?” she asked. “Any better?”

“Much. When can I go home? I really need to get out of here.”

“When the doctor’s talked to you,” she answered, adjusting the flow on the IV bag. 

“And when will that be?” Vegard was getting that tone in his voice; the one that signified that he was starting to get pissed off.

“Soon. I’ll check and see if she’s free. Just hang in there.”

He groaned and threw his head back against the pillow. “This is stupid,” he muttered. “Stupid doctor, stupid hospital, stupid tests.” 

“Just hang in there,” Bård echoed the nurse. Vegard opened one eye and smiled faintly. 

“Been hanging in there for almost an hour. I don’t know how much longer I can take.” There it was again. That faint admission of weakness. 

“Whatever happens…” Bård began, and trailed off, unsure of how to finish the sentence. 

He didn’t have to. The door opened and a slight woman in a white coat entered, holding a clipboard. Bård felt his heart speed up, and couldn’t imagine how Vegard must feel.

“Vegard,” she began, tilting her head as if asking if it was okay to address him by his first name. When he nodded, she continued. “You came in following a loss of consciousness, and your test results were abnormal.”

“So what is it?” he asked, his voice flat. _Just tell me_.

“Well,” she paused. “There’s a number of things it could still possibly be, and we’re still trying to rule things out, but for right now, it’s looking like it might be some form of leukemia.”

The bombshell dropped. Bård felt like his stomach had dropped somewhere into the basement. Vegard didn’t speak, just focussed on his hands. Whatever he’d thought it could be, it was never that.

“So…so what now?” he asked at last, his voice hoarse.

“I’m going to refer you to the oncology department. They’ll be able to give you more information on your options. I’ll start your discharge papers and write the referral. It shouldn’t take long.” She left, closing the door behind her again with an audible, fatal _click_. 

Vegard slumped back against the pillows. “Well, shit, Bård,” he said.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Bård drove Vegard home from the hospital, seeing as his car was still in the lot at the office. Vegard was silent the whole way home, which was uncharacteristic, but not surprising. Once or twice, Bård thought of trying to make conversation, but nothing seemed appropriate. ‘ _So, you might have cancer. Lovely weather we’re having.’ ‘Well you’re probably facing months of pain and horror but the good news is, there’s a sale at the grocery store.’_

He kept quiet.

They pulled up in front of the immaculately-kept house on the outskirts of the city and Bård turned the engine off. Neither of them got out. 

“Do you want me to stay?” he offered. 

Vegard shook his head. “You don’t have to. I’m just gonna go to bed anyway.”

“Eat something first.”

“Not hungry.”

“Eat anyway.”

“Yeah. I will.”

“I’ll get your car. I’ll drop it off here tomorrow morning, and I’ll take you to the appointment, if you want.”

Vegard avoided his eyes. “You don’t have to do that,” he muttered, but Bård knew him well enough to know that what he was really saying was _please, please come with me._

“Yeah, but it might be better to have two people there, to remember stuff. It’s no problem.”

“I…yeah…okay thanks.”

“No problem. See you tomorrow.”

Vegard nodded and got out of the car. He walked up the steps to the door, his movements heavy and slow. For a moment, Bård considered coming after him and insisting on staying the night anyway, but something made him stop. Chances were, this might be the last private night Vegard would have in awhile.

~~~

Bård wasn’t usually one for being on time, but the next morning he pulled up to his brother’s house, in his brother’s car, at precisely 8:30, half an hour before they were scheduled to be at the hospital’s oncology department. He honked once, expecting that Vegard would rush out the door, fully dressed, having been up for hours. That’s how he was. He was early for everything, and constantly chastising Bård for being late. But the door didn’t open, even when he honked again.

 _Stay calm,_ he told himself, digging his spare key out of his pocket. _He’s probably got headphones on or something._ But he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking as he walked up the steps and unlocked the door.

“Vegard?” he called. “Hey, it’s 8:30, we gotta get going. You here?”

No answer. 

“Vegard,” he tried again, his voice shaking. “Come on, where are you?”

The bedroom door was still closed, and there was no one in the bathroom.

 _Oh God, what if…_ he wouldn’t allow himself to finish the thought. He put his hand on the doorknob of the bedroom and closed his eyes. He’d only been in Vegard’s bedroom a handful of times, but this was an emergency.

The door creaked open. The first thing he was was the figure lying in the bed. His heart jumped into his throat.

“Vegard!” Without waiting for a response he all but jumped on the lump. “Vegard, please, wake up, please…”

“I’m awake, Bård,” Vegard answered. “Get off me.”

“Good. But get up. We have…less than half an hour to get to the hospital, and it takes about twenty minutes to get there.”

But Vegard didn’t answer, just snugged his face against the pillow.

“Vegard, come on…you don’t want to be late, do you?”

“I don’t want to go,” he whispered. 

“Vegard…” Bård faltered, trying to come up with an answer to that.

“It makes it real,” he said. “It makes it too real.”

“It’s still real,” he said softly. “Whether you go or not, it’s still real.”

Vegard made a soft little sound and buried his face against the pillow, shutting his eyes tightly.

“Vegard, please,” he tried again. “It’s still real, but this is how you beat it. They’ll be able to tell you how to kick it’s ass.” He tried a different tactic when that got no response. “What would you do in my position? What would you say if it was me acting like this?”

Vegard opened his eyes and turned his head, giving him a weak smile. “Same thing I do every morning when you won’t get up.”

“Oh, so — _this_ then?” And with a flourish, Bård ripped the blankets off the bed. 

Vegard yelped - the first real, normal sound he’d made all morning, and curled into a ball.

His Tshirt and shorts were soaked.

“It’s sweat,” he muttered, when he saw Bård trying not to stare. “I didn’t piss myself.”

“I…I know,” Bård said, but Vegard just shook his head and pulled himself up with a quiet groan, running his hand through his unruly morning curls. 

“I’ll just…I’ll just wait in the living room,” Bård said, and made his exit as quickly as possible. He wasn’t fleeing, but it seemed wrong to see Vegard in such a state. Weak, groggy, unready to face the day…

 _You’re going to be seeing a lot more of him like that,_ he thought darkly. _And you won’t always be able to go wait in the other room._

“Fuck,” he mumbled to himself, and choked down the sudden burning feeling in his throat. God, that was the last thing they needed, for him to break down as well.

The door opened and Vegard appeared; slightly more put together in loose-fitting sweatpants and a Tshirt.

 _I gave him those sweatpants for his birthday,_ Bård realized with a sharp stab in his stomach. _They weren’t that loose on him then._ The amount of weight Vegard had lost between May and now…! 

 _Why didn’t I see it?_  

“All ready?” he asked, forcing himself to sound more positive than he felt. 

“As ready as I can be,” he sighed. “Let’s get this over with.” 

He didn’t seem particularly steady on his feet, and Bård watched him carefully as he locked the door and made his way down the steps to the driveway. 

“I’ll drive,” he offered. Vegard raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t you trust me?” he asked. 

“All I’m saying is that the airport and the hospital are in the same direction.” 

That got an actual chuckle out of him, and he moved around to the passenger side. “Fair enough.” 

Bård got in the driver’s seat, and then they were off, heading towards the hospital. He looked over in the passenger seat. Vegard had leaned back and closed his eyes, but Bård could tell he wasn’t really asleep. He searched for something to say, something to fill the oppressive silence in the car, but like the night before, nothing seemed appropriate. 

Finally Vegard opened his eyes. “They said it might not be, right?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “Last night, they said it might be something else?”

“Yeah,” Bård agreed. “You heard the doctor. There’s still other things it could be.”

He laughed humourlessly, and it turned into a cough. “Probably something worse.” 

“There’s all kinds of medicines out there…”

“Yeah, but they’re _poison_. Don’t you know how chemo works?” The tone in his voice said that he did. That he’d been up all night researching it. Damn him.

“Don’t think about it,” Bård said wearily. “Just…don’t think about it just yet, okay? Let’s find out for sure, first, before leaping to assumptions.”

Vegard didn’t answer, but the look on his face said it all.

~~~

They pulled up to the hospital at exactly 9:00, and by the time they’d parked and found the correct building, they were running almost 10 minutes late. It wasn’t helped by the fact that Vegard, although he was trying, couldn’t move as fast as usual. By the time they got to the door he was out of breath and drenched in sweat. 

The receptionist gave them a somewhat skeptical look as Bård got up to the desk and gave the name, as if judging them for being late, and it made him want to smash something. Couldn’t she see Vegard was trying? How could she even work here if she couldn’t have some compassion? 

“Forget it,” Vegard muttered, sensing the sudden irritation in his brother’s demeanour. “I’m gonna go sit down.”

“Right. Sure. Of course,” Bård sighed, shaking his head. It wasn’t important. Hell, he’d probably just been imagining it anyway. _Now I’m turning into you,_ he thought. _Picking little fights to cover up the real tension._ It was a miracle Vegard had been as compliant as he had been. Or he just didn’t have the energy to snap. He didn’t know which was worse. 

They sat down in the thinly-padded chairs against one wall, and Bård wished he’d thought to bring a book or even a magazine. Vegard looked like he could really use the distraction of one of his dumb plane magazines right now. 

“So much for being late, huh,” he said, trying to at least distract him a little. 

“Hm,” he responded, clearly not in the mood for any kind of banter. 

“I’m sure they’ll be ready for you soon - look the door’s opening, you’re probably next.”

The door to the inner office was opening, and a small figure was coming out. A woman, maybe in her mid-twenties, it was hard to tell. She was wearing a hat, but they could see she was bald underneath. Her skin was pale and her eyes sunken. Even if they weren’t in an oncologist’s office, it would be obvious that she was really, really sick.

“Don’t look,” Bård said, hearing Vegard’s faint intake of breath. “Don’t look, that won’t be you, just think about something else.”

“I can’t,” he whispered, but any sort of comfort Bård might give (and he really had no idea what he could even say that wouldn’t sound patronizing or just be an outright lie), an older man in a white coat stepped into the doorway and called Vegard’s name.

Vegard stood up, then back at Bård, who had remained seated. The look in his eye said _aren’t you coming?_

Bård shifted uncomfortably. He hadn’t realized that Vegard might want him to sit in on the actual appointment, even though if their positions were reversed, he would definitely want his brother there. But that was different, Vegard was his older brother and of course he’d want him there. He was the protector. Bård was just the shitty little sibling, the one who —

He stood up with a nod, and followed the other two into the office.

Contrary to what Bård was picturing in his mind, it was a bright, spacious office with large windows letting in lots of light. There were charts and diagrams and posters full of information on the walls, almost too much to take in at once. Bård found himself flicking through each one at a glance, looking desperately for something that might set his mind at ease a little bit. All he found were long scientific words he couldn’t even pronounce, let alone explain. 

“Please, sit down,” the doctor said, indicating the two seats in front of his desk. “I’m Dr. Leifsson.”

“Vegard,” Vegard replied tonelessly. “And this is my brother, Bård.”

“I’d say I’m pleased to meet you, but that might be a little inappropriate, given the circumstances,” Dr. Leifsson said with a hint of a smile, and improbably, Vegard smiled too. At once, Bård decided that he liked this doctor. 

“I understand this must be a huge shock,” he continued, “and I just want to assure you, that anything you might be feeling right now is completely and totally normal. Something like this is never easy. Please feel free to ask any questions you might have. You too, Bård. Don’t worry about sounding stupid or hysterical. I’m here to help you through this in every way possible.”

“Am I going to die?” Vegard asked.

Bård felt pulse pounding in his throat. There it was. The crux of this whole situation. Damn him, why did he have to be so blunt? Why couldn’t he just delicately dance around the topic like a normal person?

But Dr. Leiffson was unfazed. He sat down behind the desk and opened the folder containing the test results. 

“Well, that’s not exactly a straightforward question,” he began. “To start with, I’m going to go over what the bloodwork shows. You’ve had quite a number of blood tests done, as I can see, and they all show the same thing: your white blood cell count is very low. I’m going to send you for a bone marrow test after this, but I’m fairly confident in saying that you do have a type of leukemia called AML, for acute myeloid leukemia.”

Vegard’s shoulders slumped, and he couldn’t even raise his head as the doctor explained how the disease worked, about stem cells and myeloids and red blood cells and how they all worked together to create a healthy immune system, and what happens when the cancer comes in. Even though he explained it as simply as he could, Bård still couldn’t make much sense of it, and he doubted Vegard got any of it at all. He couldn’t help but think that in any other circumstances, Vegard would be all over it, asking as many questions as he could as he tried to remember it all. He always was such a fucking nerd. 

“You still haven’t answered me,” Vegard said, when the technical explanation came to an end.

Dr. Leiffson sighed. “I know. And I wish that I could give you an answer one way or another, because at least that would take some of the uncertainty away. But I just can’t. I can tell you the statistics, and your treatment options, but I can’t tell you definitely that you’re going to die.”

“But you can’t tell me that I’m definitely going to live, either.”

“Well, that’s the other side of the coin, of course. But let’s look at this together. AML is the most common blood cancer in adults, and is more prevalent in men. That means that there is a lot of research behind it, and many ways of treating it with good results. Furthermore, you’re under the age of 45, in otherwise good health with no other health problems, you’re not overweight and you don’t smoke, and you also don’t have a family history of cancer. All of these factors are things in your favour.

“Statistically, the survival rate is 50% to 5 years - meaning that 50% of people who receive treatment are alive five years later, which is when the disease is considered ‘cured’”

Bård swallowed, looking at Vegard. 50%. Half the people who got this died.

(But the other half lived, he tried to remind himself). 

Vegard closed his eyes and breathed out, looking like he was fighting back saying something. Bård looked away, wanting to spare him that small indecency, but Dr. Leiffson didn’t.

“So…so what do I have to do?” Vegard asked at last, his voice only shaking a little. “And when?”

“I’m going to send you across the hall to the lab to have a bone marrow aspiration done.”

“Okay. Then?”

“AML is treated with chemotherapy. It’s not pleasant, and it’s not comfortable, but it’s the best thing, and the sooner you get started on it, the better.”

“What if that doesn’t work?”

“Well…then we’ll have to explore other possibilities. There are other options that can be used more as a ‘last resort’, but for right now, let’s just focus on one thing at a time, which is getting started on the treatment as soon as possible.”

“How soon is that?”

The doctor looked at the charts again, and then at the calendar on his desk. “Can you start the day after tomorrow?”

 _Yes!_ Bård wanted to shout. _Of course you can, come on, the sooner you start the sooner you’ll be better, what are you waiting for, just say yes already!_

But Vegard was shaking his head. “No, I can’t,” he said. “We have a show that day.”

“Vegard…” Bård started, not sure what he was going to say. He’d forgotten about the shows. He’d forgotten completely, but it didn’t matter, they were just _concerts,_ why couldn’t Vegard see that, they weren’t that _important_ , they really weren’t, they could postpone them or just —

“We’re _not_ cancelling, Bård!” His voice was stronger and sharper than Bård had heard it in a long time.

Dr. Leiffson frowned. “It’s not ideal. You really should start right away, while we have an opening available. It’s better for you, and I can’t guarantee that it’ll still be there later.”

“Yes, but the shows…” Vegard dropped his head into his hands. “And IKMY and… _fuck, there’s no time_ …”

“Yes there is,” Bård said. “There is time, and you’re going to do it, no excuses. Shows can be postponed —“

“ _No!_ ” He almost yelled it. “I am _not_ missing those shows. I’m not. I’m doing them. I’ll start chemo the day after Stavanger, I promise, but I am _playing those last three goddam shows!_ ”

“Okay,” Dr. Leiffson said gently. “If you feel you’re up to it, then you can do them. But you must take it easy and rest as much as possible in between, and the day after the last show you’ll show up here and start. Deal?”

Head still bowed, Vegard nodded.

“Okay. Bård? Will you hold him to that?”

“Are you kidding me?” He was ready to hold him down and make him go _now._

“Good. Excellent. I’m going to write the requisition and add you to the schedule. The receptionist will call you later today to tell you what time you should show up, as well as anything else you’ll need to know.” He stood up, the two brothers following, and stuck out his hand to shake both of their’s.

“I know it’s hard,” he said. “But you’re going to get through this. Whatever happens, we’re going to help you every step of the way.”

~~~

Half an hour later, they were sat in yet another waiting room, waiting for yet another nurse to come out and call Vegard for yet another test.

He was nervous. Bård could tell, despite the way he tried to hide it, but the way he kept looking over whenever a door opened, and tapping his fingers on his thighs, betrayed it. He wanted to say something, something comforting, but he was afraid that if he opened his mouth, all that would come out would be an incoherent rant about how _stupid_ and _irresponsible_ and _selfish_ Vegard was being, so he kept it clamped tightly shut. 

Finally, the nurse came out and called Vegard’s name. Once again, he stood up and looked back at Bård to make sure he was coming. 

Bård followed him, glancing at the nurse as they passed her to see if she would stop him, but she didn’t say anything, just let them to a smaller room with a gurney and a gown.

“Please take your pants off, and put the gown on,” she said, and exited.

“No real delicate way to say that, I guess,” Bård shrugged

That got an actual snort of laughter out of his brother. “Not the reason I like to take off my pants either,” he added, and grinned again as Bård made an exaggerated retching noise. They looked at each other and then burst into giggles again.

Then a new nurse came in, and neither felt like laughing at all.

“I’m going to inject a local anaesthetic,” she said without preamble. “It should take away most of the pain.”

“Most of the pain?” Vegard asked in a small voice.

“You might have some additional aching during the procedure, and you’ll likely be sore afterwards, but it should be very minor.” While she was saying this, she was preparing a hypodermic needle and filling it with clear fluid. Then she rubbed a cotton ball with antiseptic on it on his leg.

Bård looked away as the needle went in, gripping hard on the rails of the bed as his vision went slightly grey for a minute, and he willed himself not to collapse into a puddle on the floor. Vegard gasped faintly, then the nurse was turning away from them and gathering up her things. 

“That’ll take about 20 minutes to take effect. Then we can begin the procedure. It should only take a few minutes.”

“Great…” He fell back against the pillow. “I can still feel my leg, Bård,” 

“Give it a minute,” he said. “She said it’ll take a few minutes.”

“What if it doesn’t?” 

“It will.”

“But…what if?” He’d never heard this tone from Vegard before. Breathless and panicky, like he was on the verge of tears. 

“It _will._ It’ll be all right.”

“No it won’t.” Vegard turned his head to the wall but his voice was low and choked. “It’s not going to be all right.”

“Yes it will, come on now. Don’t think that way.”

His only answer was a small sound that might have been a sob. 

“It’s gonna be just fine. Think about it. We’re going to do the last three shows, and we’re gonna have a blast. Seriously. Like you said, we’re gonna go out with a bang, and it’s gonna be awesome. The security guy from Stavanger called me back yesterday night, and everything is sorted out, we don’t have to worry about a thing there. Just come in, rock out, and worry about things after. It’s gonna be great.”

No answer. Just a hitching breath and a muttered curse as he swiped his hand angrily across his eyes. 

 “And then in the fall, IKMY’s gonna be great. You’ll still be able to do it, I bet. If anyone can, it’ll be you. And you know, everything seems to be smoothing itself out. We’re actually _under_ budget, can you believe that? We might even have enough to do that thing you wanted to do, the one with the compressed air and the can of snakes. I’m pretty sure I can talk the network into it. It’ll be hilarious. Especially if we get a few foreigners up on stage - can you imagine? They already don’t speak Norwegian, they have no idea what’s going on, and then _BAM!_ Snakes!” He had to admit, he was smiling a little just thinking of it.

“Just…try to focus on one thing at a time, okay?” he tried again. “Just like the doctor said. It’s all you can do. Okay? And look forward to the good stuff.”

“How can I?” Vegard asked, finally turning back over. His eyes were red-rimmed and flat. “You heard what else he said. Half, Bård. Fifty percent of people who get this disease die!”

“Yes,” Bård answered, resting his hand lightly on top of Vegard’s. “But fifty percent of them _live.”_  


	3. Chapter 3

_This is madness_ Bård thought as they sped down the highway toward the airport. _We shouldn’t be doing this._

Despite his promises to Vegard (and not to mention, the festival organizers,) Bård was really tempted just to take the first exit to the hospital instead of continuing on. Vegard wouldn’t even know until it was too late. He was curled up in the passenger seat sound asleep, covered by a blanket despite the late-summer sun beating through the windshield and making the car almost uncomfortably warm.

Bård was no doctor, but it didn’t take one to see that Vegard’s condition had deteriorated even over night. He’d been still in bed when Bård had pulled up, which meant another frantic race into the house. But this time, instead of just not wanting to go, Vegard had been still sound asleep, evidently not having heard his alarm. He’d been groggy and confused when Bård woke him, and nearly threw him out when he dared to suggest that maybe this wasn’t a good idea. 

 _It’s not a good idea,_ Bård thought. _There’s no way this can end well. There just isn’t._

Why couldn’t the festival have been closer, at least? The one tomorrow was practically in Oslo, but Glesvær was on the coast and required a plane ride to get there. 

 _Of course, maybe that’ll cheer him up a bit._ Not likely, but still. Actually, what was more likely was that the cabin crew would think Vegard had some kind of infectious disease and refuse to let him fly. 

“Wake up,” he said, poking his brother as they turned into the parking lot. “We’re here.”

Vegard shifted and opened one eye. “Here?”

“The airport. Your favourite place. Now wake up, we have a plane to catch.” He parked, maybe a little roughly, in the closest spot he could find to the doors, and got out, popping the trunk. 

Seeing as the concert was scheduled to end sometime after midnight, they planned to stay in a hotel and catch a flight back the next day, well in time for the show in Drammen that night. Fortunately, it meant that they only needed to bring a small overnight bag with only the essential toiletries and a change of clothes. 

“Vegard? Come on, get out, I’m not carrying your bag for you.” 

The door opened and Vegard got out. He looked a little better, maybe, for having slept in the car; to the point where he probably wouldn’t be stopped from flying. Bård checked his watch. If they made it on time, that is. 

“Come on, we’re going to be late,” he tried, hoping that might trigger Vegard’s need to be on time for everything, and somehow overcome how bad he was feeling. Not likely, but he was willing to try anything.

“I’m coming,” Vegard responded, putting out a hand to take his bag. “Just give me a minute. My leg hurts.”

Bård winced. How could he have forgotten? The procedure yesterday had been quick, and fairly painless at the time, but it was after they’d got in the car and the local anaesthetic started to wear off that he really felt it. Watching him try to hobble up the steps into his house was just sad, but at the same time, he’d refused any help, so watching was all Bård could do.

“All right, okay…do you need any help?”

“No,” he responded, but staggered against the car. Bård caught his arm. He pushed off, shaking him off almost angrily, and rushed ahead, limping and favouring his leg.

Bård fought down his annoyance and ran to catch up.

~~~

In the end, they were allowed to fly, although Bård was certain the cabin crew was giving them odd looks. Vegard, exhausted by rushing through the parking lot, fell sound asleep again once they were in the air, which left Bård with nothing to do for an hour other than stare out the window and worry.

Not about the show, not exactly. For the most part, whatever happened, happened, and besides, mistakes were often better comedy than everything going smoothly. The crew had reported in yesterday that all the costumes and backdrops had arrived safely and were being set up, and really, all the brothers had to do was show up. Even the stupid Fox headpieces had finally been located. By all rights, these last three shows should have been a breeze, just a crown on the top of the summer - the whole last year, actually. They’d even toyed with the idea of throwing the Fox hats into the audience after the final show in Stavanger; or blowing them up with fireworks, or some other symbolic gesture of finality.

Bård shivered, and suddenly wanted to hug those headpieces as tight as he could. 

The plane began to descend. Vegard opened his eyes.

“We there yet?” he asked hoarsely.

“Just landing.”

“Damn. Missed the whole ride.”

“Good thing you’re not in the cockpit.”

Vegard smiled, then yawned and stretched, wincing a little as he pushed his leg out too far. 

“How’s your leg?”

“I’ll take a Paracet or two. It’ll be fine.”

Bård didn’t mention the fact that Vegard had been popping Paracets all morning, probably more often than he was supposed to. Vegard, who hated taking pills and would rather suffer than “admit defeat,” as he called it. 

They landed with a bump and everyone began to collect their bags from the overhead compartments. Seeing how crowded the small space had suddenly become, Bård put his hand on Vegard’s arm and mouthed ‘ _wait_.’ The last thing they wanted was for him to get bumped, or worse, knocked around. It would be hard enough to cover up the bruises he already had on his arms when he was wearing the black tank top part of his costume; fresh new ones would be even worse. 

They waited until the plane was nearly empty before Bård stepped past Vegard and got their bags down. The cabin crew gave them more strange looks as they took their time getting off, but Bård just smiled blandly and pretended nothing was wrong. He had a feeling he’d get used to doing that a lot over the next coming weeks. 

The festival organizers had thoughtfully sent a car to take them from the airport to the festival site, which spared them trying to find a taxi or rent a car themselves. Already Vegard looked like he just wanted to sit down somewhere and preferably not move for awhile.

 _He is never going to get through soundcheck, let alone the show_. 

Calle and Magnus were waiting for them already when they got to the stage. Calle did a double take when he saw Vegard, but Bård silently pleaded with him to say anything. Somehow he’d forgotten entirely that they’d be there, and that maybe he should have warned them, but it had slipped his mind and now he just had to hope that he could get a quiet moment at some point to break the bad news. 

“How is…are they setting up?” he asked quickly. “Are they almost ready for soundcheck?”

“Just about,” Calle answered, never taking his eyes off Vegard. “Are you…um…”

“Fine,” Vegard answered. “Just a little tired after the flight.”

“After an hour-long flight?”

“Yep. Let’s go.”

Bård ignored Calle’s questioning look as he followed after his brother. As he pretty much expected, the need to appear normal actually seemed to give him energy, even if it meant he would crash later. They could only hope that the crash would come _after_ the concert and not before — or during.

 _No, don’t even think that way._  

The stage was set up already and various crew and band members were milling around, waiting for soundcheck to start. Bård greeted them, wondering if he should say anything about Vegard. In the end he decided not to; deliberately drawing attention to it would only make the whole thing worse. Best just to keep it as quiet as possible. The more people they told, the more likely it would be that someone would leak it. 

He didn’t even want to think about that happening. 

The director signalled to them that it was time to begin and they went through their paces, checking each instrument and mic in turn. It was repetitive to be sure, but it could also be fun, when they could be less formal and concerned with everything sounding perfect. Today, though, Bård just wanted to get through it as quickly as possible. Vegard might have perked up, but it was clear that it was only temporary, and the strain was taking it’s toll on his voice. 

 _We thought it was a cold_ , Bård thought with a pang. _We all thought it was only a cold._  

Finally, the techs were happy with the sound mixes and the check ended. Vegard immediately disappeared backstage, and Bård went to follow him, but of course he was waylaid; things were never that easy. The director; band members, press, even some fans all wanted to talk to him, and he knew he couldn’t just blow them off without raising some kind of suspicion. Even still, he had to think quickly when pressed as to where his brother was. 

 _I don’t know,_ he wanted to yell. _I don’t know, but he’s really sick and he might need me, and I really need to go find him._

He smiled politely and explained that Vegard had had to go off and deal with something else that had come up.

Finally he managed to shake off the last of the reporters and went backstage to try to fine his brother. After a few attempted-casual, and then increasingly more worried inquiries, he finally found him, sitting in the shade, water bottle in hand.

“You look like shit,” he said bluntly.

“So do you.”

“Seriously, Vegard, you…this isn’t…”

“Bård.” There was something in Vegard’s tone, an air of finality, that said _drop it. I’m not going to change my mind._

“Fine,” Bård sighed, defeated. Really, he knew it was too late anyway. “Look. I’ll make you a promise - I’ll stop bothering you, as long as you promise to tell me if it’s getting to be too much. If you need something - just tell me. Promise me.”

Vegard looked away.

“Promise me!”

“Okay…I promise.”

“And don’t try to be a hero, either. You don’t have to…you can…” Bård looked away, fighting down the burning in his throat. “You can ask me,” he finished. “I don’t mind.”

Vegard looked back at him, hearing the choke in his voice. He sighed. “I will, okay? I promise. Don’t get upset. Not this close to the show, you’ll wreck your voice.”

Bård fought back a sniffle and smiled. It was almost like normal.

~~~

They hid the bruises with makeup. 

Even Bård had to admit that whatever the make-up techs had used, it was damn good. Vegard looked tanned and healthy, and the bruises on his arms were barely visible. Even Bård would have had a hard time telling that he was sick. Aside from his voice, that is, which had only gotten worse over the course of the afternoon, no matter how he tried to rest it. Like Bård, he couldn’t just not talk to fans, or worse, band members; even though he’d been drinking water nonstop, he was still hoarse and rough sounding. They could only just hope that the adrenaline rush of performing would give him the strength he needed to get through.

“You look good,” Bård said, giving a thumbs up as they were helped into their costumes.

Vegard just grinned, and looked in the mirror again, and suddenly Bård understood. 

_He just wants to look normal again._

“We’re gonna get through this,” he whispered again, the words becoming a mantra in his head as the opening boomed overhead. _We’re gonna get through this. We’re gonna get through this._

They climbed onto the platform that would take them to the stage. 

“Ready?” Bård whispered.

“More than ever.” He looked more than healthy, he was practically _glowing_. 

And suddenly Bård wished the concert would never end.

~

By about the third song, however, he was beginning to regret that wish. Vegard was trying his hardest, but he was starting to show signs of fatigue, and Bård knew it was only going to get worse. His voice was holding out, even if it was a little rough, but he thought for sure that the audience must realize something was wrong. How could they not? Vegard historically had trouble remembering the lyrics to Jeg Heter Finn, and his dancing during the song would never win any awards, but it was the worst Bård had ever seen it. 

And as he looked at the packets of blood being readied for use later in the show, he realized, with a sinking feeling, that it was going to wash the makeup away. 

 _Just let us get through this,_ he thought incoherently as the next song started up and he ran forward to do the introduction. _Just let us get through, please, just let us get through…_

And somehow, they did. The fourth song passed, and then it was time for for Pie Jesu. Vegard was wearing a baggy white Tshirt, which might hide some things.

It was only the fifth song, but Bård could see that things were starting to fall apart. The makeup was still hiding the pallor in his face but it wouldn’t for much longer. As he grabbed him in a fake wrestling hold, he could feel his limbs shaking.

 _Say it, say you want to stop, say that it’s getting to be too much_ he willed, but at the same time he knew it was pointless. They were in too deep now; they couldn’t stop the show even if they wanted to. The only thing he could do was be gentler than normal during the fight, knowing all the while that he was leaving fresh bruises on his brother’s arms. 

It ended. They scrambled offstage to wash the blood off before throwing on the plaid shirts for Massachusetts. Sure enough, the scrubbing washed away some of the makeup, enough that Bård could see that Vegard was, if possible, even paler and more tired looking than before they started. He took a long drink of water and then, almost reflexively, a Paracet.

“Careful with those,” Bård muttered before he could stop himself. 

“My leg hurts,” Vegard whispered back. Before Bård could answer, he’d pushed past him back up to the stage and grabbed a bucket of hamburgers.

They were at the halfway point now. Only seven more songs to go, and then they were done. Unfortunately, three of those songs were Vegard’s solos, and there was no way he was going to hit the high notes. His voice was failing him _now_.

And yet, amazingly, he pushed on, a testament to his sheer strength of will and the rush of performing. Massachusetts passed, and then Bård had to hurry backstage to change and grab his saxophone. He could hear the jazzy strains of the Cabin above him, and fortunately, the deeper vocals seemed easier and smoother and gave him hope that maybe they could get through this after all. The next act was easy, but after that came the heavy Kyrgyz costumes and Vegard was back to struggling through. 

 _They must know by now,_ Bård thought as Stonehenge ended and Vegard began the opening for Jan Egeland, the song they’d both been dreading. It was so fucking, painfully obvious that he was exhausted and had no voice left and needed to come off that stage right fucking now. The song was a mess; it was embarrassing just to watch. He could only imagine how bad it _felt_. 

And yet, the applause and cheering was just as thunderous, if not more so, than the beginning, so either the audience _hadn’t_ noticed, or they were sympathizing. Bård hoped it was the former; pity applause would only make Vegard feel worse.

“I fucked it up,” he whispered, stumbling offstage and nearly into Bård’s arms. He shoved his arms through the sleeves of the furry Fox coat. “I fucked it up so bad.”

“Forget it, it was fine. You’re almost done.” He almost pushed Vegard back out.

The finale had never felt so good, or maybe he’d never been so relieved to be done. Waving goodnight and ignoring all requests for encores, they quickly ran offstage. Vegard stumbled and slumped against the wall, falling to his knees. Bård grabbed him and held on. His shirt was soaked with sweat, and he could feel the heat radiating off him.

“It’s over now, it’s over, you’re done,” he kept whispering, trying to help him get back on his feet before anyone saw. “Just a little further, okay? You just need to get your costume off, then you can go back to the hotel.”

Obediently, Vegard rose to his feet, leaning heavily on Bård. But Bård wasn’t satisfied.

“I need you to answer me. Okay? Can you hear me?”

There was a pause. Then, “I hear you,” Vegard whispered raggedly. “I need…I need…”

“I know. Come on.” 

They couldn’t risk going back to the actual wardrobe room. There were too many people milling around. Bård thought.

“I’m going to go get your clothes, okay? Just stay here and you can change. Then I can bring the costume back for you. Okay? Just wait here.”

Vegard nodded, drawing the fur coat closer around himself despite the hot night. Bård helped him sit down behind a curtain, where hopefully no one would bother them, and then took off for the dressing room. He tried to be quick, but as always, there were a million people around, all looking to speak with him and Vegard, congratulate them and take pictures and ask questions, and he had to force himself to be polite and calm, all the while trying to figure out how to get rid of them as fast as possible. 

Finally managing to fend off the last few people, he went into the dressing room, quickly locating Vegard’s street clothes and shoving them into the nearest plastic bag to conceal what he was carrying. Making his way topside took longer than he liked due to the need to avoid yet more people, but finally he reached the corner where he’d left his brother.

“Vegard?” he whispered. “I’m here, I’ve got your clothes. Where are you?”

“Here.” It was faint. In the dim light, Bård could see he’d curled up to lie on the floor. He’d been sick.

“Okay, come on, up you get. Put your clothes on.” He helped him slide his hands through the sleeves of the coat, and then pull the tanktop off, trying not to grimace at how wet it was. He slipped a loose fitting Tshirt over his brother’s head, then hauled him to his feet.

“I’m not taking off your pants for you,” he said. “We’re just not at that level yet.”

Vegard snorted, and fumbled with the belt. It took a few tries, but finally he’d opened it and dropped his pants. Hanging on tight to Bård, he stepped out of them and into the waiting sweatpants. Bård shoved the costumes pieces into the plastic bag and made a note to return them later. 

“Hotel. Now,” he said, and Vegard just nodded. “Let me just make sure there’s no one out there…”

And so it progressed to where there was a car waiting for them. Bård scouted out a few feet, then helped Vegard hobble through and hide in the next corner. It took far longer than he would like, but finally they’d cleared the last few feet. They’d only just fallen into the backseat of the car and told the driver to go straight to the hotel, when Bård’s phone chimed with a new text message from Calle: _We’re going out. Where the hell are you?_

 _Coming_ , he sent back quickly, unsure if he should tell them to wait for him or not. He couldn’t face the idea of leaving Vegard alone, but if he didn’t go, they’d know something was wrong. He looked over at his brother, who was slumped against the window, eyes closed. He was clearly in no condition to be left alone.

As they pulled up to the hotel, he shook him awake. Vegard had gained some colour back in his face, and he actually managed the walk into the building without help. They checked in without incident and made their way to their room, thankfully on the first floor. Vegard might be feeling better, but Bård doubted he could manage stairs. 

As soon as they were inside, Vegard flopped down on the bed and curled up.

“What do you need?” Bård asked anxiously. “Tell me. What do you need me to do?”

“Nothing,” he answered. “Really. I’m just going to crash. Don’t let me oversleep for the plane home tomorrow.”

“Okay, but —“

There was a knock at the door. “Bård, Vegard, you here yet?” Calle. “We’re going out, come on!”

“C-coming,” Bård stuttered, trying frantically to think of a way to decline without draw suspicion, fighting down the desperate, burning need to go with them.

 Vegard opened one eye. “Go,” he said.

“What?”

“Go with them.”

“I can’t just leave you!”

“I’ll be fine! I’m going to sleep. You need to go with them. You need this. Go on.”

Bård hesitated.

“ _Go._ ” Vegard said sternly. 

He nodded dumbly. “Y-yeah, all right…call me, if you need me. Your phone is right here, by your hand.” He slid the device out of Vegard’s pocket, and placed it on the mattress. “Just…text me, or call me, or anything, I don’t care what time it is or what it is you need —“

“I will Bård, I promise. Now go!”

Calle hammered on the door again. Bård rushed across the room and opened it, sliding out and closing it as quickly as possible.

“Where’s your brother?” Calle asked at once.

“He’s…he’s um…he’s gonna stay in,” he stuttered. “You know how he is. He doesn’t drink, he’s a total wet blanket.”

Calle fixed him with a look, but didn’t say anything as they started their walk down the hall to the front door. But as they passed his room, he grabbed Bård by the shoulder and dragged him inside, shutting the door behind him.

“What’s going on?” he demanded.

“I don’t —“

“Fuck you, Bård, you know exactly what I’m talking about. He looks like shit. This isn’t just a normal cold or flu. _What is going on_.”

“Cancer,” Bård whispered, before he could stop himself. “He’s got leukemia.”

Calle backed away, mouth dropped open. “What? Are you serious? Because if you’re fucking joking —“

“I’m not joking,” he answered, and suddenly that burning lump in his throat was back, and his eyes were stinging too. “I wish I was, but I’m not.”

“How long…?”

“We just out yesterday,” Bård answered, hoping that was the question Calle had been about to ask. “I tried to get him to cancel the shows, but you know what he’s like, he just wouldn’t!” The room was going shimmery as his eyes watered. 

“Is he in treatment?”

“Day after Stavanger. I couldn’t get him to start before.”

“Fuck, Bård…”

“I _know!”_ and just like that, he startled himself by bursting into helpless tears. Ashamed, he covered his face so he wouldn’t have to see the kindness in Calle’s eyes as he rubbed his back and made soothing noises.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted, once the sobs had tapered off a bit. “I don’t…I don’t know…”

“What did Vegard say to do?”

“He said to go out but…you saw him after the show…”

“He’ll call you if he needs you.”

“That’s what he said, but you know how he is…”

“Bård.” Calle’s voice was kind, but firm. “Why don’t you trust him to do the right thing? You need a break. Come on.”

~~~

Bård woke with a groan and a pounding headache. The sun was pouring in the windows, turning his body into a world of pain.

“Vegard, shut the blinds,” he groaned, snugging his face into the pillow, trying desperately to get a few more minutes of sleep.

No response.

“Vegard…?” The events of last night hit him like a freight train. He shot up, wincing as the sunlight stabbed into his eyes. “Vegard!”

A snore came from the other bed, and Bård breathed a sigh of relief. He scrubbed his hands over his face and rubbed his aching eyes, trying to remember last night. He couldn’t. Not after the first bar, anyway. 

A pang of guilt and panic shot through him. Just how drunk had he been last night? What if Vegard had tried to call him and he hadn’t answered? He flicked through his phone with a feeling of dread, but there were no missed calls or texts. He breathed a sigh of relief.

 _Stupid_ , he chastized himself. _Stupid, stupid, stupid, and irresponsible too…!_

According to his phone, they had an hour before they had to be at the airport. His stomach was shifting uncomfortably, but he knew the best thing was to get something to eat. He debated waking Vegard, but figured it would be better to let him sleep. He probably wouldn’t want to go down in public anyway.

The breakfast room was almost empty, which was a good sign. Bård poured a cup of black coffee and picked up a muffin and a copy of the day’s newspaper. 

Unsurprisingly, there was a big article about the concert. He skimmed through it; pleased to note that it was generally positive, until a paragraph halfway down the page caught his eye.

_The performance was slightly marred by the apparent illness of the elder Ylvisåker. Vegard performed ably but it was clear he was not at full strength. Younger brother Bård assured us it was merely a bad cold that afflicted his older brother, but there are rumours circulating that it might be something more serious._

Bård dropped his muffin from nerveless fingers.

 _What did I say?_ He thought, feeling bile rise up in his throat. _What did I say last night? Who did I say it to?_

He suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe, and that the eyes of everyone else in the room were on him. He threw the newspaper in the trash with a snarl and grabbed another muffin to take back to the room, guilt churning his insides. What was he going to say to Vegard? He’d promised not to tell anyone, and then gotten drunk and blabbed to someone

_I am the worst brother ever._

“Wake up,” he said, trying to keep his voice light. “Vegard, wake up, we need to get going.”

No answer.

 _Stay calm_. 

He shook him lightly. “Come on, Sleeping Beauty, we’re going to be late.”

Vegard opened his eyes. “Late? What time is it?”

“9:30. Way to early for anyone to be awake. I brought you a muffin. I know you’re not hungry, but you need to eat it. You can’t go all day without eating, you’ll pass out.”

Vegard accepted it and slowly unwrapped it. “Any news on the show last night?”

“Yeah…they liked it,” Bård said. “There’s…there’s an article in the paper, if you want to see it…”

But Vegard shook his head. “Nah. Let’s just get going.”

~~~

By the time they landed at Gardermoen and taken the train to Drammen, Bård had three missed calls on his phone from Jørgen. He swallowed guiltily and promised himself he would call him back. As soon as possible. After the show. One thing at a time. 

Once again, Calle and Magnus were waiting for them. Bård wanted to ask Calle just what had happened last night, but just as much, didn’t want to know. He cursed himself for being a coward. 

“Come on, time for soundcheck,” Calle said by way of greeting. Bård tensed, but Calle barely even looked at Vegard. 

“Bård?” Vegard’s voice was hoarse. “I don’t…do you think you could…do soundcheck for me?”

His heart jumped into his throat, but he forced himself to stay calm. “Of course. You need to rest your voice, that’s a really bad cold you’ve got there. Go sit down somewhere.”

Vegard nodded and Bård climbed the stairs to the stage. He gave no explanation for Vegard’s absence, and no one asked for one. A few people strolled by, enjoying the rest of the festival, but no one seemed to notice that he was singing Vegard’s songs as well as his own.

When soundcheck finally ended, he found he had three more missed calls on his phone - two from Jørgen, and one from his mother. His insides went cold. Somehow, he’d completely forgotten that at some point, they were going to have to tell their parents what was going on.

Well, that would have to be up to Vegard. He was done inserting himself in that kind of mess.

“How are you holding up?” he said, finding his brother tucked away in a quiet corner. “Starting to wish we’d cancelled.”

“No way,” he answered, but his voice was almost gone. “We never cancel.”

 _That might change_.

“Well, at least you’ll be home tonight,” he said. “And you’ll have a few days off before Stavanger.”

“Before chemo,” he added darkly.

“Yeah…well…that too.” _Fuck_.

“Did you ever find out what Jørgen wanted?”

“Ah…no,” Bård lied, looking away. “Hey, maybe we should get something to eat before the show. You need some tea or something.”

Vegard shook his head. “Not hungry.”

“I know, but…just try, okay? For me?”

He sighed, pushing himself slowly to his feet. “I’ll try.”

~~~

The show was, in a word, a mess. If Vegard had been having trouble the night before, he was almost completely out of it now. Bård had never heard his voice so bad. 

 _We should have cancelled_. It kept running through his head, each time he got close and caught a glimpse of Vegard looking more and more haggard, every time he missed a high note. _We should have cancelled, we should have cancelled, we should have cancelled…_

Even worse, he was fairly sure he’d spotted Jørgen in the audience at the side of the stage just before going on. Their manager did not look happy. 

_We should have cancelled, it’s all crumbling apart, we should have cancelled…_

The only saving grace was that, just like the night before, the audience didn’t seem to realize that anything was wrong. The response was tremendous, and Bård knew it was about the only thing keeping Vegard going. Hell, it was the only thing keeping _him_ going. 

He didn’t dare look at his phone. The emails had started rolling in after noon, when the article had apparently disseminated on the Internet, and suddenly he was bombarded with messages asking if Vegard was okay. Even thinking of how to answer them made him feel dizzy, so he resolved to not look until long after the concert was over. Hell, maybe he’d just throw the thing in the fucking ocean. 

Never had a concert seemed to drag on so long. It felt like it had been going on for hours, but they were only at the halfway point. 

 _He’s never going to make it._ Jan Egeland was going to kill him.

 _Stop it, don’t even think that way, don’t even say the word. He’s going to pull it off, of course he is, this is_ Vegard _we’re talking about, he’s going to be okay…_

_Of course he’s not, he’s up there and he has fucking cancer, what do you think is going to happen? And you’re the one who told. You’ve betrayed him when he needs you the most. You’re disgusting._

“Stop it,” he mumbled out loud as he picked up the saxophone. Calle gave him a worried look but he just shook his head. 

Just four more songs left. Two of them Vegard’s solos. Oh God, his voice was failing. Bård caught Calle’s eye.

 _“He’ll be fine,_ ” Calle mouthed, but Bård shook his head. Couldn’t they hear it? Couldn’t they hear how bad he sounded?

He slipped the black jacket back on and went up on stage where the microphones and voice changers were set up. At least for this one, they could stand still and the voice changers meant that no one could tell how bad it was. They couldn’t see that he was about to drop, and that he still had two more solos, and a rock anthem that was going to kill him, because he _was fucking sick, can’t they see that?_

Suddenly he just wanted to kick over the microphone stand and shut everything down. Here they were singing about penises, and his brother had fucking _cancer._ It was so fucking _wrong_ and _sick_ , it was like slapping him in the face, it was —

“Easy,” Calle said softly, as he stepped down from the stage. “Just take it easy. Breathe.”

“I can’t…he’s…”

“He’s doing fine.”

“No he’s not, _listen_ to him, fucking _listen_!”

“He’s getting through it. You need to just calm down and breathe before you pass out.”

“I can’t,” he murmured. 

“You have to. You’re almost done. Come on.”

He didn’t know how he managed it, but somehow Calle’s grip on him calmed him down. He was right, of course. It wouldn’t help to have both of them falling apart. Someone had to keep things going. 

He took a few deep, calming breaths, then picked up his guitar. Vegard was going the intro to Stonehenge, and he forced himself to calm down and listen. Calle was right - he didn’t sound so bad. And the crowd was eating it up. 

 _We’re going to get through this_. 

Stonehenge ended. Then the intro for the song they’d both been dreading. And that was where Bård’s hope fell, and he knew Vegard’s did as well. 

It did not go well, to say the least. Even in his worst moments, Vegard had never sounded so strained, so…so _weak_. 

 _We should have used playback,_ he thought. _At least for this song_. But then again, then everyone would know something was wrong. They never used playback, ever. 

The screaming drowned out most of the missed notes, and Bård motioned the band to try to play just a little louder, to take the focus off him. Not like they really could - Vegard was the star of the song, and he was determined to make that known, even if he couldn’t do it vocally. And in that, at least, he succeeded.

“Fuck that was bad,” he gasped as they ducked backstage to put on the Fox costumes.

“Don’t worry about it, no one knew,” Bård lied. “You looked good, that’s all they care about.”

Vegard snorted.

 _Just a little longer_ , Bård thought. _Three more minutes._

It felt like the longest three minutes in history, but suddenly they were done, the lights went down, and the show was over.

They’d made it. Bård let out the breath he felt like he’d been holding all night. Now it was just a matter of dealing with press and fans, and then getting back home for a much needed rest. Fuck if _he_ wasn’t exhausted too.

“Ready to run the gauntlet?” he grinned, turning to Vegard. The smile fell from his face. 

His brother was standing, barely, with a far away look in his eyes, like he didn’t know where he was and couldn’t process anything happening around him. He was pale and sweating and his breathing was way too fast.

“Vegard?” Bård asked, taking a step toward him. He was just in time to catch him as he crumpled to the ground.

~~~

 _This was not the way a concert is supposed to end_ , Bård thought for the thousandth time as he sat, head in hand, in the hospital waiting room. They were supposed to go out and get drunk and stay out til all hours of the night. Not this. 

It was all a blur, really. He could barely remember anything from seeing Vegard collapse into his arms until now. He’d wanted to ride in the ambulance but the paramedics wouldn’t let him. They’d barely even listened to him until he’d grabbed one and practically shouted into her face that Vegard had leukemia. That had got their attention, at least, even if they’d still made him follow behind in a car. Calle had grabbed his waist and forced him to calm down before getting his costume off, and getting Vegard’s street clothes as well.

Calle had driven him to the hospital, and then retreated. Bård knew he would rather have stayed, but respected their need for privacy, even from him, and Bård loved him a little bit for it. His phone was blowing up with calls and texts and emails, and Jørgen was apparently on his way to the hospital, but he couldn’t answer them. He turned his phone off. 

Finally the door opened, and a nurse waved him inside and down the hall to a private room.

They hadn’t even washed the makeup off Vegard’s face, making him look garish and harsh in the fluorescent lighting. His eyes were closed and there were all kinds of tubes and wires and monitors around him. Bård approached and touched his hand gingerly. He felt warm.

At the gentle touch, Vegard opened his eyes. The mask over his face prevented him from speaking, but he didn’t need to speak to acknowledge Bård’s presence.

“I’m guessing this isn’t what you meant when you said you wanted to go out with a bang,” he joked weakly. Vegard smiled, then reached up and pulled the mask off. 

“That bad, huh?”

“You did fine. The audience loved it.”

“Jan Egeland sucked.”

“The butt-rubbing made up for it.” 

He laughed faintly. “Did anyone see the…after…does anyone know what happened?”

“I don’t think so. Just Jørgen. He’s on his way.” Bård sat down on the edge of the bed. “We have to tell him.”

“I know. After Stavanger, okay?”

“Stav—“

“We can’t cancel, Bård,” Vegard said tiredly, with no real conviction in his voice. “People are travelling a long way for it. It’s the finale. They’re coming from all over, we can’t cancel.” 

“Do you really want to go through that again?” Bård asked simply.

Vegard closed his eyes. He couldn’t answer that.

The door opened and a man in a white coat entered. “Dr. Anderssen,” he said by way of introduction. “I treated you when you came in.”

“How bad is it?” Vegard asked, trying for levity and failing. 

“Well…your brother told me of your diagnosis, so I got in contact with your oncologist, Dr. Leifsson. He confirmed it, and he wants you to come in to his office tomorrow. He wants you to start chemotherapy right away.”

“He said I could wait,” Vegard protested. “Until after Stavanger.”

“Well, your condition has deteriorated, as I think you can tell, and he feels that it’s crucial that you start now. Tomorrow.”

“No,” Vegard said stubbornly, and Bård felt like shaking him. 

There was another knock at the door, and Jørgen entered. Bård took a deep breath. This could go both ways. 

“What is going on?” their manager asked. “This seems like something I should have been told about. A long time ago.”

No one spoke. Vegard looked away, determined to ignore the situation. Finally, Bård spoke up, his voice quiet and low.

“Vegard has leukemia. He needs to start treatment right away. We need to cancel Stavanger.”

“Bård!” Vegard hissed. “No! Jørgen, we can’t cancel Stavanger! People are coming…”

Bård looked to the manager. _Please, please see reason, you’ve known us for so long, you know I wouldn’t say that unless there was no other way, please make my stupid brother listen, because he won’t listen to me._

Jørgen frowned. “It’s true that people are coming, and this won’t look good on us,” he said. “In fact, we could get in a lot of trouble for cancelling. It’ll definitely be a hit on your reputation and popularity, particularly with the overseas fans.”

Bård felt his hopes deflate and he clenched his fists. Money. That’s all it was. Everything came down to money and popularity.

“But,” Jørgen continued, “I can’t in good conscience let you continue on against medical advice. Not for something as serious as this. I agree with Bård, I think Stavanger should be cancelled.”

“No,” Vegard said weakly. “Please, no.”

“I’ll make the arrangements.”

“Please…” But it was no use. Both the doctor and Jørgen left the room.

Vegard turned to look at the wall. “Go away, Bård,” he muttered.

“Vegard, please…this isn’t a punishment.”

“I’ve ruined everything.”

“Stop it! This isn’t your fault! Don’t listen to him, this isn’t going to look bad on us. It’s an emergency, for fuck’s sake. We’re not cancelling on a whim.”

Vegard turned back over. “Don’t you understand?” he asked in a whisper. His eyes were wet. “Cancelling Stavanger…it’s like I’m letting it win.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

Vegard didn’t say a word as Bård drove him home. The doctor had been against releasing him, but eventually relented since, as Vegard pointed out, he would be returning to the hospital the next morning. In Bård’s opinion, that very fact seemed to suggest that they _should_ keep him overnight, but in the end, Vegard won out.

He’d turned his phone on silent as soon as he’d gotten to the hospital, and nearly forgotten about it. There were 46 missed calls from Calle, Jørgen and a few journalists. He ignored the media with a shudder, but Calle was different. 

“I’m…going to have to tell Calle something,” he tried uncertainly, acid guilt gnawing at his stomach.

Vegard shrugged. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“He’s going to find out anyway.” A defeated sigh. “Better that it comes from us.”

“Okay.” Bård nodded, feeling only slightly better. “I’ll…I’ll let him know what’s going on.”

“Just not the newspapers.” He tried to make it sound like a joke, and thankfully missed the look of panicked guilt that flashed across Bård’s face.

“Of course not,” he said, maybe a little too quickly as he pulled into Vegard’s driveway. “I’ll be here at nine tomorrow. Be ready to go, or I’m dragging you out in your boxers.”

Vegard smiled tiredly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Okay,” he said simply, and opened the door. For minute, Bård was tempted to go with him and spend the night - after all, he was barely recovered from collapsing after the show, and now he was even sicker than before…but Bård was exhausted too, and the prospect of spending the night curled up on a couch didn’t appeal to him. Plus he still had a million things to take care of, not the least of which was informing Calle of what had happened. 

 _And our parents,_ his mind reminded him guiltily.

He rested his head on the steering wheel for a long time without moving, trying not to think of the day ahead.

~~~

As promised, Bård pulled into the driveway again at nine on the dot. 

 _It’s funny,_ he thought, even though it wasn’t funny at all. _I’ve never been to Vegard’s house so many times. Or been so punctual._

At least this time, Vegard was waiting for him, evidently having taken Bård’s threat seriously. Or maybe just eager to get it over with. He waved half-heartedly from the window, then opened the door.

They didn’t speak on the drive to the hospital. There were no words to say. Anything Bård could try to say - ‘don’t worry’, ‘maybe it won’t be that bad’, sounded trivial and insulting, and would only make the situation worse. The situation was as bad as could be already.

It might have been selfish, but Bård was relieved as he pulled into the parking lot that he wasn’t parking in the ‘Emergency’ lot. There’d been too much of that recently. 

The door they went in was less noticeable, but no less foreboding: _Cancer Clinic._ Vegard looked up at the sign, before sighing and opening the door. No more delaying. 

Contrary to what they expected, the reception area was bright and sunny, alive with green plants everywhere, and comfortable places to sit. It looked closer to a fancy hotel than a place for the sick 

(And dying).

The receptionist sitting behind the desk at the far end of the room recognized them right away. Not surprising, but not entirely unwelcome. She came over and spoke in a low voice to avoid attracting the attention of the few people sitting around the room.

“Vegard?” she asked, touching his arm gently. Bård felt his defences go up, but Vegard didn’t react. “We have everything ready for you. Come on back with me and we’ll get you set up.”

Vegard stood and walked after the woman, looking for all the world like a man going to his execution. 

The receptionist led them down the hallway to a small private room. Vegard steadfastly avoided looking anywhere but straight ahead of him, afraid of what he might see. Who he might see. Afraid that someone would see him.

“We thought you might be more comfortable in a private room,” she explained, opening the door and turning on the light. “If you just want to take a seat, the nurse will be in in a minute to get you started.”

Vegard nodded numbly, but didn’t move, frozen in place in the doorway. Bård could see the sweat on his neck.

“Come on,” he said softly, pitching his voice low so no one but his brother would hear it. “The sooner you do it, the sooner it’s over with, right?”

“Right.” He still didn’t move. Bård nudged him in the back.

“Come on. Don’t make me carry you over there.”

Vegard snorted a laugh, and that got him moving. He crossed the little room to the comfortable chair at the back. Bård followed him, sitting down on a second, less-comfortable chair. The receptionist closed the door, and then they were alone.

“I really don’t want to do this, Bård.” Vegard’s voice is no more than a whisper.

“I know, but…what’s the alternative?” He shuddered. “Don’t…don’t answer that.”

“What are the chances the nurse will come in and say that there’s been a mistake, that I don’t have cancer after all?”

Bård stayed silent. They both knew the answer to that one. Several things were on the tip of his tongue - _maybe it won’t be so bad, maybe you won’t get sick, maybe you’ll be one of the lucky ones_ \- but they all seemed insulting. Luckily, he didn’t have to flail around to fill the increasingly uncomfortable silence, because the door opened and a new person in pink scrubs come in.

“Vegard?” she asked, and when she got the confirming nod, smiled. “Great. My name is Stine Beate, I’m going to be your nurse today. I’m going to just get things set up over here and then we can get started.”

She turned away, and Bård dared to glance over at Vegard. His brother’s jaw was clenched, and he was clearly fighting back a smile.

“Don’t say it,” he mouthed, but Bård grinned, and Vegard had to turn a burst of laughter into a cough. Stine Beate turned back around, raising her eyebrow questioningly. Vegard waved her off with a mumbled apology. 

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s get started. I’m going to draw some blood and take your vitals, and then we can administer the sedative and the surgeon will be in —“

“Surgeon?! No one said anything about surgery!”

Stine Beate looked surprised. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I thought they had told you already. This form of chemotherapy is made of up different drugs that are delivered intravenously. Instead of starting and re-starting an IV line every time you come in, Dr. Leiffson has ordered an IV port, which will stay permanently in your vein until the course of chemo is done. Okay?”

Vegard had gone white. “I’m going to have a thing sticking out me?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. He looked like he was going to throw up.

“It’s very small,” she was quick to assure him. “It won’t impede your daily life at all. After a day or two, you won’t even notice it.”

“But it’s still going to be a thing sticking out of me.” He flashed a panicked look at Bård. “I can’t do that. No, sorry.”

“Vegard —“

“ _Bård!_ You can’t…I can’t work like that!” He was breathing fast and looked like he might bolt at any minute. 

“Yes you can!” Bård was quickly on the floor beside his brother, a hand on his arm. “Yes you can, you heard her, you won’t even notice it, and we can cover it up. That’ll be so easy, think about it. That won’t be any problem at all. But you have to do this, okay? Otherwise…” He trailed off. 

“I won’t be working at all,” Vegard finished grimly. 

Bård nodded, unable to acknowledge the fact. He swallowed hard and hoped no one noticed. 

Vegard bowed his head. “All right. Let’s get this over with.”

Bård was told in no uncertain terms that he had to wait outside while the surgeon put the IV port in, but he wasn’t going to complain about that. The entire idea made him a little nauseous, but he firmly reminded himself that as bad as it made him feel, it was worse for Vegard. It was so much worse. 

With nothing else to do, he checked his messages on his phone. And wished he hadn’t. Emails and voicemails from various organizers and officials were piling up, and he knew he was going to have to deal with them soon, but it was overwhelming. Everyone wanted to know what was going on, if they were going to reschedule and when, and worse, some emails contained words like _legal terms_ and _breech of contract_ , and all he wanted to do was hide.

_So sorry. My brother might be dying, I’m not sure when we’ll reschedule._

_Go ahead and sue us, in a year there might not even_ be _an Ylvis._

Bård clutched his phone tight in his hand, trying to control his breathing and get his racing thoughts under control.

Then he bolted for the bathroom and was violently sick.

_~~~_

The procedure only took less than half an hour, so by the time Bård got himself back under control, it was over. The nurse waved him back in, and he shuffled toward the door, suddenly hesitant and nervous.

_Man up. Vegard needs you._

“Everything went fine,” Stine Beate assured him. “He’s just coming out of the anaesthesia. It was only twilight sedation, so it shouldn’t take him long to wake up. You can go and sit with him, and we’ll be ready to start the infusion in a little while.”

Bård nodded his thanks as she walked away, then steeled himself and opened the door.

Vegard was lying in the recliner, covered by a blanket. His eyes were closed but the heart monitor was beeping steadily, which Bård took to be a good sign. He pulled the chair he’d been sitting on over beside Vegard’s chair, and awkwardly sat down to wait. 

“Bård?” Vegard asked without opening his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m here. How do you feel?”

“Uh..shitty. Is it over yet?”

“Not yet. The first part is over.”

“Can I go home yet?”

“Not yet,” Bård said again, feeling helpless. Vegard, for his part, made a soft noise of discontent, then closed his eyes again. Bård sighed, and selfishly wished he’d wake up again. At least then he’d have something to concentrate on, something to distract him from just _waiting_. And as soon as the thought passed his mind, he hated himself for it. This wasn’t about him or how he felt. If Vegard got another hour or so before having toxic sludge dumped into his veins, then that was all the better.

But it wasn’t another hour. It was barely twenty minutes before Stine Beate entered again.

“Not much longer,” she assured them. “Just putting in the order to the pharmacy for the chemo drugs and then we’ll begin.”

“How long will it take?” Bård asked, because he knew that would be the first thing Vegard would want to know.

“Probably about an hour, maybe an hour and a half. I’ll explain more when the drugs are here. For now, if you can try to help him wake up a bit more, that would be good. Have him drink some water, there’s a pitcher there on the table.” 

She gestured to the table beside the chair, where sure enough, there was a pitcher of water and a couple of plastic cups. Bård nodded. 

“I’ll try,” he promised. “He’s a stubborn asshole though,” he added, trying for some levity. 

It didn’t work. “I’ll be back soon,” the nurse said, and left them in privacy once more.

“Hey. Wake up,” Bård said, nudging Vegard’s shoulder. “C’mon, time to wake up.”

Vegard grunted and turned his face the other way. 

“If you don’t wake up, you’re getting an ice bucket to the face,” Bård threatened, tapping his fingers on the pitcher to show that he was serious. When he still got no response, he dipped his fingers in the glass he’d poured, and flicked them at Vegard.

“What the hell, Bård?” he grumbled, opening his eyes. “Okay, I’m awake.”

“Good. Now have some water.” Bård handed him the glass, but Vegard eyed it dubiously.

“Is this the one you put your fingers in?”

“No! Do you think I’m completely disgusting?”

“Well…” Vegard shrugged, and when Bård wasn’t paying attention, dipped his own fingers in the cup and flicked him back.

Bård flinched, but knew that he’d savour the sound of Vegard’s laugh forever. 

“Too bad you can’t nominate…” his voice trailed off as he heard Vegard’s quiet intake of breath. 

Vegard had pushed back the blanket, exposing his arm. There was a small bandage covering the actual incision site, but the catheter was hanging out, supported by another piece of tape along his arm. It was ugly and foreign, an alien invading his body. 

“Don’t look,” Bård murmured, but Vegard had already gone dead white and seemed to be having trouble catching his breath.

“I want it out,” he whispered. “I want it out right now.” He clenched his fist and hissed in pain.

“Don’t…just leave it, just don’t look at it for now,” Bård pleaded with him, trying desperately to keep him calm. “You’ll forget it’s there, please, just look at me. Don’t get upset.”

“How can I not get upset?!” His heart rate was increasing. The monitor was letting out increasing shriller beeps. From outside, Bård could hear footsteps. 

“It’s a good thing,” he tried. “Remember? It’s a good thing, it’s how you’re going to beat this.”

“It’s not…I can’t…” He was gasping for breath now. “I can’t…”

The door burst open, and Stine Beate entered, followed by a doctor. 

“Everything OK?” she asked, and Bård tried to shake off the wave of irritation. 

“Yeah, he’s just —“ he trailed off, waving a hand at his brother. _Freaking out_ seems insulting, but he doesn’t know how else to describe it.

“Totally understandable, happens all the time,” the doctor assured them. He knelt down in front of Vegard.

“I’m going to give you a mild dose of Valium, okay? It’ll help with the anxiety and you’ll be able to calm down.”

But Vegard shook his head, making a visible effort to get himself under control. “No,” he ground out. “No drugs. I want to be awake for this.”

 _What is wrong with you?_ Bård wanted to shout, but he knew from experience that it was useless to argue with Vegard over things like this. His brother hated taking unnecessary medications, and of course, he’d deem this unnecessary.

“Okay. That’s entirely your choice,” the doctor said gently. “No one is going to force you to do anything you don’t want to. We’re here to make you as comfortable as possible during this.”

“How much longer is it going to be?” He sounded unutterably exhausted.

“Now,” Stine Beate said. She showed him a bright green plastic baggie. “The drugs have just come up from the chemist, so we’re all ready to start.” She opened the bag and began to prepare the solution.

“It’s almost over,” Bård tried to say soothingly, even though they both knew it was a lie. It was just beginning.

“I changed my mind. I’m not ready,” Vegard whispered back, but it was too late. The nurse was approaching them again, an IV bag in her hand. She hung it up on a pole beside the chair, and then reached for the catheter port.

On impulse, Bård leaned over so he could whisper directly into Vegard’s ear.

“ _Stine Beate do the special move.”_

Vegard snorted through his nose, trying to contain his giggles. She connected the tube, and turned on the flow.

“ _Whoa! That’s a special move!”_ they whispered in unison, and quickly had to clamp their jaws shut when Stine Beate finished with her ministrations on the port.

“It’s a lot more comfortable than having an IV put in every time,” she said again. “Now, this is going to take about an hour to run in. You can move around now, as long as you’re careful. I have to go now, but I’ll be back periodically to check on you. If you need me before then, you have a button by your right hand you can push.”

Vegard nodded his understanding, and she left, closing the door behind her. Vegard stared at the catheter in his hand and the tube running into it. He still looked alarmingly pale, but his breathing was slower and the heart monitor beeped at a steady pace.

“This is it,” he said softly.

“One down,” Bård nodded. “How does it feel?”

“It feels…” Vegard frowned, as though trying to find words. “Warm,” he finished at last. “Like there’s a heat in my chest and it’s rising up to my face, but…that’s it. It doesn’t hurt.”

“Well, that’s a good thing,” Bård said, trying to sound encouraging. “If it doesn’t hurt, and it’s only going to last about an hour, then maybe it won’t be so bad.”

Vegard fixed him with a look. “Like you said. This is only the first one.”

~~~

As promised, the entire procedure took only a little over an hour, and before noon, they were back in the car on the way back to Vegard’s house.

Bård tried to keep an eye on his brother out of the corner of his eye, but Vegard was just sitting quietly, shielding his arm and occasionally looking down at it, then swallowing hard and looking away. He seemed lucid and not in the mood for much talking, so Bård let him be, at least until they were in the house.

“You don’t have to stay,” Vegard said, but his tone said otherwise. He was standing in the middle of the living room, looking as if he didn’t know where to go or what to do next.

“Bullshit. You’re not getting rid of me that easily. You need to eat something.”

Vegard swallowed. “No, no I don’t.”

“Yes, you _do._ Now what do you want? I’ll get you anything - soup? Uh…soup?” he finished lamely, trying in vain to think of something. 

“No, really…” He bit his lip and swallowed again.

“What about a smoothie? You like those. Strawberry banana?”

Evidently seeing that Bård wasn’t going to leave him alone until he agreed to eat something, Vegard nodded. “Okay. Just a small one.”

“Okay,” Bård agreed, deciding that meeting him halfway would be the best thing for now. “You can lie down on the couch, and I’ll be right back.” 

When he got back from the store, small smoothie in hand, Vegard had flopped down on the couch and curled into a small ball. Bård didn’t think he’d ever seen his big brother looking so small and helpless, and he fought the urge to avert his eyes. This was going to be the norm now, better get used to it. 

“You don’t have to stay,” Vegard muttered again, accepting the cup. He took a slow, hesitant sip, holding it in his mouth and swallowing carefully. When that seemed like it was going to stay down, he took a longer sip. 

“It’s really good,” he admitted with a half smile. “Thanks.”

“Anything you need,” Bård vowed. “Just say it.”

Vegard sighed and rolled over onto his back, closing his eyes and taking another sip. “Right now, I need…I just need things to be normal for awhile.”

 _Sure. Why not just ask for the fucking moon?_  

And then inspiration struck. Bård cleared his throat, and waited until Vegard opened one eye. Then he slid down until he was sitting sideways on the chair.

“Don’t sit like that. You’re going to break it. How many times do I have to tell you?” Vegard huffed.

Bård just smirked. He shifted around dramatically, making himself comfortable, then picked up his laptop from where it had been lying on the floor. 

“Make yourself at home,” Vegard quipped, but there was a smile creeping over his face.

“Thanks, I will.” Bård said. He yawned comically, then picked up the remote control and flicked on the TV, scrolling through the recorded programs until he came on a documentary about some plane or another.

“Why’d you record this shit?” Bård asked as he hit play. “This is so fucking boring. Who even watches shit like this?”

“Some of us want to educate ourselves, Bård,” Vegard said primly. “Now be quiet, I’m watching this.”

Bård rolled his eyes, but there was a definite lessening of the hard knot of fear in his chest.

~~~

Vegard fell asleep only half an hour into the documentary, shortly after finishing the smoothie. Bård took the cup out of his limp grasp and threw it in the kitchen garbage, before returning to his place on the chair and opening the computer again. He’d been avoiding it, but he couldn’t any longer. 

_\- We need to talk about IKMY._

Jørgen’s message was blunt and to the point, but Bård wouldn’t expect any less of him. It didn’t make it any easier, of course, and his first instinct was to shoot back a defensive, ‘everything’s fine.’ But reason and common sense told him that Jørgen had a point, of course, and they couldn’t just ignore it. The simple fact was, things were going to have to change or be adapted, and they’d have to plan that out in plenty of time. 

\- _What do we tell the public?_  

 _Nothing_ , Bård wrote back, this time without hesitation. _No one needs to know._ People would figure it out, of course, but they didn’t have to encourage it. Right now, what Vegard needed was privacy, not media and fans trying to contact him. 

He couldn’t even think about the last question - _what’s the prognosis._ Even looking at the words made him feel breathless. 

Vegard stirred as Bård was trying to figure out how to deflect Jørgen for just a little longer. He opened his eyes, and immediately Bård could tell that something was wrong. He was breathing evenly but quickly, and seemed to be concentrating intently at a spot on the floor. 

Then with a muffled “ _oh god”_ he got up and bolted into the toilet, not even bothering to close the door behind him. 

Bård sighed and followed the sounds. Wordlessly he came up behind his brother and held his hair back as Vegard was helplessly, violently sick. When the spasms finally died off, long minutes later, he flushed the toilet and sat down beside him. Vegard sank back against the tub, gasping for breath.

“I can’t do this, Bård,” he whispered. “I can’t…I can’t do _this._ I can’t do this!” His voice broke and he looked away as tears welled up.

“Yes you can,” Bård assured him. “Yes you can. You _are_.” 

 


End file.
